


First Kills

by daringlybelieving



Category: The Order: 1886
Genre: F/M, Headcanon, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 18:18:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4315410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daringlybelieving/pseuds/daringlybelieving
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabeau's first mission didn't go how she expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Kills

**Author's Note:**

> After playing this game and becoming ridiculously attached to it's characters, I started churning out headcanons on tumblr, on of which evolved into this. I've approached this with the idea that since Isabeau is canonically the youngest knight to ever be inducted into the Order, she was probably born in a an era not too far off from 1886, therefore this is set somewhere after 1750

It was too dark, damn near impossible to see in fact. Every minute sound seemed magnified tenfold, and all of Isabeau’s nerves were on edge. The light mist of perspiration on her skin felt almost like it was prickling and she resisted the urge to wipe her hand across her forehead, instead adjusting her grip on her Flintlock and sliding deeper into the shadows of the hay bales she was perched behind.

The inside of the barn was almost perfectly silent, the only sounds detectable being the occasional snort of the horses that were housed there and the wind hissing through the gaps in the wooden walls. Isabeau found herself unsettled by the quiet; she was more familiar with the hustle and bustle of the city and its people, whereas the relative stillness and isolation of the countryside was altogether foreign to her.

She blew an errant strand of hair away from her face and tried to steady her nerves, though the impending outcome of her first mission weighed heavily on her mind. It was irrational, she knew, to be worried about something so trivial as whether her performance would meet with Sir Galahad’s standards when her concentration should be fully on the mission itself, and yet, she could not stop herself hoping that she would make her mentor proud to call her his protégé.

The mission itself was a standard half-breed sighting at a small farm not far from the outskirts of London, though one that Isabeau was only included in at Galahad’s behest. Her father, the Lord Chancellor, had only given her leave to join the squad of experienced knights, namely Sirs Perceval and Galahad, after Galahad had argued her case.

_ " _ _It is time for Isabeau to show her worth in the field, Lord Chancellor, she is more than adequately trained to be of service to The Order.” Grayson had pressed, gesturing towards Isabeau who was stood off to the side of the round table. Isabeau kept her eyes respectfully on the floor, it was after all, better to let Galahad reason with her father rather than arguing with him herself; knowing her father it would only cause him to maintain a firmer position against her joining the squad._

_She heard the familiar rumbling sigh she had come to recognise as her father’s way of admitting defeat and raised her eyes hopefully to him. He was watching her with a strange expression on his and the optimistic feelings that had started to rise in her wavered for just a moment._

_“You are representing The Order now, Isabeau, see that you do not forget it.” Behind the harsh words Isabeau caught a glimmer of something else. Pride._

_“Yes, Lord Chancellor.” She dipped her head respectfully, hiding the smile that tugged at her lips._

Everything was going as planned, thus far. At Galahad’s instructions, Isabeau had stationed herself in the barn while he and Perceval drove the creatures towards her position, away from the residents of the farm. On their arrival at the farm and the discovery that there were several children present, Perceval had stressed the importance of keeping the half-breeds, and their weapons fire, as far away from the farmhouse as possible.

Isabeau startled at a sudden distressed whinny from one of the horses. She closed her eyes and concentrated on blocking out the noise of the stamping hooves and anxious snorts, trying to pick up on whatever had made them so nervous. The soft, rhythmic crunching of the snow on the ground outside told her that something was approaching. She felt her heartbeat increase as she counted the number of footfalls. Eight; too many and too close together to be from Perceval and Galahad. Two half-breeds in their lycan forms, however, was far more likely.

She steadied her weapon against her shoulder and aimed it at the entrance of the barn, her finger hovering to the side of the trigger guard. The half-breeds were close enough that she could hear their low growls and panting breaths. Doubtless the two knights weren’t far behind their marks, they would need all the firepower they had to bring the lycans down.

The thin strip of sunlight on the floor from the open barn door darkened as the first lycan crossed the threshold of the barn. The creature was thin and wiry; it’s coarse fur patchy in places and caked in dirt. If she didn’t know better she might have mistaken it for nothing more than a stray dog, starving in the wilds. Isabeau held her breath and watched the beast down the barrel of her weapon, her finger inching closer and closer to the trigger. She only had two shots, one in her rifle, the other in her pistol; she needed to make them count.

She sat, anxiously waiting for the second creature to enter the building; it would not do for her to risk the integrity of the plan by acting too soon. She didn’t have to wait long, however. The echoing blast of a rifle being fired not too far away and a yelping howl preceded the second creature skittering through the doorway, blood matting the fur of its front left shoulder.

She let her finger finally glide over the trigger and squeezed, hitting the non-injured beast squarely in the temple. She dropped the rifle to the ground and pulled her backup pistol from her shoulder holster and aimed it at her target. The lycan was sprawled across the floor, its breathing shallow and erratic. She stepped out from her position behind the hay bales cautiously, reaching for her short sword with her free hand.  A second shot and another lupine whine told her that the other lycan had been dealt with, though she flicked her eyes over to confirm it, watching as Galahad efficiently dispatched the creature with his own blade.

The sight of her mentor completely in his element filled Isabeau with awe and appreciation; that she had been allowed to learn from this man was a wonderful gift. He sheathed his blade and look at her expectantly. Isabeau nodded and turned back to her task, though what she saw stunned her to her very core.

 Instead of the mangy wolf-like creature she had shot, a young man lay. He was thin and waif-like, his bare skin covered in dirt and blood, and Isabeau could not help but pity him.

“We must find Perceval soon. Isabeau?” Galahad’s voice was soft and questioning, pulling her gaze away from the prone figure before her.

She stared at the knight wordlessly for a long moment before she tucked her pistol back into its holster. “I was not expecting-” she started, trailing off as her gaze fell back to the boy.

Galahad stepped forward and placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, doing his best to draw her attention back to himself. “It is an abomination, a cruel trick of nature.” When she did not respond he hooked his fingers gently underneath her chin and forced her to look at him. “They are dangerous, Isi, you know this.”

Isabeau nodded her head in acquiescence and took a deep steadying breath. Pulling away from his touch, she tightened her hold on her blade until her knuckles turned stark white and her fingernails cut into her palm. She knelt down beside the boy and rolled him onto her back. She forced herself to tear her eyes away from the youthful face and focussed on the blade in her shaking hand. Without giving herself a chance to think, she thrust the sword beneath his ribs in an upward motion.

She was surprised to find herself breathing hard and erratically, though nothing surprised her more than Galahad kneeling before her and taking the blade from her hand before pulling her gently to her feet.

“You did well, Isabeau.” He carefully wiped the tears she hadn’t even known were there away from her cheeks.

Isabeau gave him a watery smile that didn’t anywhere near reach her eyes, and Grayson felt his heart tighten in his chest. “How did you stop feeling guilty?” her voice wavered slightly as she spoke and more tears pushed past the barriers of her eyelashes.

Galahad swallowed and brushed away those tears too. “I didn’t” he replied honestly, his voice gruff. Isabeau nodded in understanding, choking back a small sob as he pulled her into his embrace. The first kill was always the worst.


End file.
